


Wizards and District 12's Broken

by WildcatPacer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 22:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14820095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildcatPacer/pseuds/WildcatPacer
Summary: On October 18th, 2013, I wrote my first fanfic ever. On June 2nd, 2017, I began the second phase of my fanfic career. Now, on June 1st, 2018, another milestone: my first EVER Crossover story! When mysterious circumstances transport Ron and Hermione into the world of Panem, how will they get home? Will they? And if they do, will they remain the same? Enjoy everyone!





	1. A Good Fuck

**Chapter 1: A Good Fuck**

**Katniss's POV**

****

I tense as the tube of lipstick clatters to the wood floor at my feet. Muscles crackling with the sensation of being frozen, I listen to the sounds of the house. No one stirs. Good. Primrose is still asleep. And let's hope she stays that way at least until the morning. I do not want to think about what might happen if she wakes up and finds me gone.

Nothing was ever the same for my family after my father died in the mines. Sure, the livelihood of folks in the Seam is pretty shitty even if you don't have a broken household. But without my father, and his sure and steady demeanor, the rest of us fell apart. Mother never fully recovered emotionally from his death, passing away when I was 18. Since then, for the last eight years, I have been feeding and raising my baby sister, Primrose, on my own.

Though she isn't such a baby anymore, at 22. Ever since she mercifully escaped her last Reaping four years ago, the pressure has been on from the rest of the District for her to marry. She really should; with our mother's Merchant features, she is the beauty of the family. Taking a husband will help to ensure her financial security. Especially since she had the baby of Rory Hawthorne out of wedlock - a tiny infant that I know is starving. It's the future that's best for both of them, that's best for her, but not for me - I vowed even before I was a teenager that I would never marry, nor have children that would just be sent to the Hunger Games anyway. I have seen what love of the romantic kind can do to people. It takes and takes and takes and leaves you vulnerable. A vulnerable that I never want to be. The sooner Prim Toasts the bread with a good man, the better off we all will be.

Because I will be  _damned_  if she ever has to do what I must do tonight, in order to barely support herself.

After Mother died, we managed well enough. I had learned to hunt as a little girl from my father, so I took over the gathering of food, becoming the main breadwinner for the household. Unfortunately, a profession like mine is subject to the mercy of the seasons - or lack thereof.

And thanks to a particularly brutal winter, a profession like the one I am about to embark on is subject to the mercy of a man in bed.

Selling yourself is the last resort for anyone struggling financially in the Seam. And unfortunately, there is a decent crop of them. Thankfully (or unthankfully, depending on your point of view), there is a ready market for prostitution in District 12, the poorest district in Panem. Our Head Peacekeeper, Cray, runs a whoring ring out of his home in the Peacekeeper Barracks. I have seen many a desperate girl at his door late at night. He only takes one per evening for his nightly tryst. So you had better look pretty. Or better yet, have an advantage like mine: approaching him with a womanhood undefiled.

I slip over my head the blue dress that was once a Merchant heirloom of my mother. It was passed down to me, and I wore it every year I was eligible for the Reaping. It is probably the fanciest piece of clothing I own, and though the fabric is faded, I hope it will attract the attention of a drunken, horny old man tonight. Enough for me to swallow my pride and earn a few coins from a few moments of pure misery.

I check my reflection in the mirror one last time, doing up my hair in the single, signature braid that runs down my back. Taking a deep breath, I exit into the sticky, humid summer night.

The Peacekeeper Barracks is on the other side of the district, over the Seam-Town line. I rarely cross over, unless I have to make an important trade. Most of my bartering I am able to conduct in the Seam's technically illegal black market, the Hob. The separation of what might as well be two diametrically opposed worlds is pronounced enough: the houses become sturdier and do not look like they are pieced together with glue, spit and hope. The streets are cobblestone instead of dirt. If folks were normally out at this time of night, you would see fancier clothes. Aryan blonde hair and deep blue eyes.

I am still a good half a mile from the Barracks now, as I cross through the center of Town proper, just beyond the Justice Building. As I slip into a darkened alleyway to make use of a shortcut, the deserted backroad is suddenly illuminated by a house's harsh light. I freeze, cornered like the wild animal I encounter and bag on my hunts. I have been halted outside the back loading dock of the Bakery.

The Baker - an admittedly handsome man of my age, 26 - is standing in surprise on the loading dock, a sack of garbage in his hands. I must have interrupted his taking out of the thrash. The ashy blonde hair and those impossibly blue eyes... eyes as blue as a summer sky... match with a name in my brain: Peeta Mellark.

Peeta Mellark and I were schoolmates together, though we never spoke at all. We only interacted once and it was a good fifteen years ago. He has since inherited the Bakery from his father. His father who was shot dead in the street on a trumped-up treason charge. The mother beaten to death by a new Peacekeeper not yet broken in to Twelve's ways - a due that was more well-deserved. One brother Reaped and killed in the Hunger Games a good decade or more back. The other, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time during a mine explosion. Peeta lives alone, unmarried. Remembering this last point gives me an odd sort of relief - I have to admit he has always been a...  _handsome_  man.

And his handsome features now keep me suspended in time and space.

"Katniss?" He smiles, as if he is pleased to see me, and I want to glare at him. "What are you doing out here?" Then he takes in my rouged face and make-up, the blue dress, the high boots that are too tight for my feet. And - barely perceptible under the skirt - my mother's black garter, the one she wore on her wedding day and Toasting night to my father. I want to cry as it clicks into place for him. He knows. He's figured it out.

"Katniss... don't do this. Please don't go this way."

His choked voice, his likely fake concern that I don't merit, makes me see red and I stomp up to the loading dock to look him in the eye. "And why can't I? There's no water, Peeta! There are no ducks. Almost zero game. There's barely any meat. My sister, my sister's child, are close to death!"

"That doesn't mean you should lose your pride! Let me help you!" And he seems close to begging now.

I get right up in his face, my teeth bared as I hiss, "I don't  _want_  your help! There isn't any choice!"

He moves too quick for me.

A second too late, I feel Peeta's hands grip each side of my skull as he yanks me forward, mashing my lips to his in a heated kiss. I give a choked, strangled, confused squeak into his mouth, accidentally parting my lips for him so that his tongue slides oh so effortlessly into my esophagus, down my throat.

I should be pushing him away. But I doubt I would have the strength for it: my thin, skin-and-bones frame against Peeta's muscular build. Besides, a tiny warmth inexplicably bubbling in my chest is telling me that I don't  _want_  to push him away. I realize I have an opportunity here: frankly, anyone is better than Cray. Especially the kind, attractive Baker.

"Hmmmm? Mmmmmm..." I moan, fluttering my eyes closed as I wind my arms about Peeta's neck, kissing him in return. Encouraged by my acceptance of his kiss, Peeta's arms slide about my waist, his hands moving from where they had fallen into my brown curls to explore... lower regions. He boldly gropes my ass through my dress, feeling me up and the extra flesh there that woefully appeared as I matured into womanhood, despite how malnourished I often am. If there ever was a place for me to put on pounds, it wasn't there.

Peeta cups one arse cheek in his palm, and then the other. At one point, he gives my buttocks a SMACK! and I squeak against his pliant lips. Assertively, I raise my leg to his waist, hooking it about his torso. I have made my intentions clear: I want sex. For a price, of course, but we can discuss that later. He may take me, if he wishes.

I feel the muggy night air tickle my shamefully wet folds as Peeta fishes for my panties, nudging them down. I feel first one finger, and then another, slide into the slick opening of my cunt, stretching me open ever so slightly.

"Mmmmmm... Uhhhhhrrrrrr!" I grind into his hand, building up the friction between us as his digits start to stroke me. After a few moments...

"MMMMM!" I squeal, muffled as my walls clench around his fingers, spurting juice forth. Peeta's skull is thrashing around in perfect harmony with mine, as our mouths battle to gain the upper hand in our desperate kiss.

Suddenly... Ohhhhhhh...

His manliness swiftly enters me, without warning, threatening to cleave me in two as something deep inside me shatters, never to be repaired again. I have been conquered. Peeta's penis thrusts tenderly into me at first, and then gradually, he picks up the pace. I buck into his pelvis, matching him pound for pound, daring to climb his body like a tree and fold my legs about him.

"Grrrmmmmmmm... Mmmmmm... HMMMMM! UHMMMMMMM!" My moans grow louder and more pathetic with each passing coupling. Oh, how horrible it would be if someone should hear!

I wrench myself out of the kiss, coming up for air for the first time in who knows how long, and right then: "OH GOD!" He makes me orgasm all over again, and I am milked for a second time.

Peeta gracefully sets me down, and for a moment, I wonder if our frantic, sloppy love-making is over. But then, the Baker sinks to his knees at my feet, hikes up the hems of my blue skirt so that my most tender of places is exposed, if only momentarily, to the world.

Then his head dives between my legs, as he feasts on the apex of my thighs. He has taken me with his hands, with his cock, and now he is taking me with his mouth.

I clap a hand over my mouth to silence the startled cry. My jaw goes slack, my eyes rolling up into the back of my head. My other palm seizes Peeta at the base of his neck, holding him in place, guiding him deeper still to just the right spot that I like to touch myself with, in the dead of night. That only I have touched, until now...

"PEETMMMMMMMMM!" I shout his name into my hand, as for a remarkable third time, I cum hard on his face. Peeta's lips and tongue remain there for a few moments more, licking away all the errant juices until he has had his fill. And then he emerges.

Reaching behind him into the open doorway of the loading dock, the Baker suddenly hands me a fine piece of bread, no more than a day old. Adjusting myself, replacing my panties, I take the bread wordlessly. I did what I had set out to do: made love with a man for food and accepted no handouts.

So why do I still feel like it hasn't been enough?

The thought occurs to me: Peeta made love to me. He fucked me. I didn't pleasure  _him_. I am just about to rectify this, tackle him and take his throbbing head between my lips and give him the blowjob of his life when -

My thighs tremble, wobble unsteadily, a thin sheen of blood coating the inside of each, making my skin slick. My core aches from having received so much attentions. My knees now buckle under me, as I swoon into a dead faint. I feel a pair of arms catch me, as the Baker scoops me up, bridal-style, the way he might if we had just had a Toasting and he had taken me as his wife.

The last thing I remember before I pass out is the approaching bright lights from the inside of the Bakery...


	2. Rings and Things

**Chapter 2: Rings and Things**

**Hermione's POV**

The door bangs to the side as I tear through it, laughing hysterically. I can feel his steps close behind me, and give a shriek of delighted fear as I feel the wind at my back, his fingers grasping the air inches behind me as he lunges, just missing me.

I trip on my own two feet and just manage to avoid tumbling over headfirst. As I spin about, wand rising out of my pocket, ready to playfully hex him if I have to, I lose my footing and this time cannot keep my balance as I stumble backwards into the far wall.

In the next instant, the arms of my boyfriend, Ron Weasley, are about me. He pulls me flush against him and begins to dance his fingers along my skin, groping, squeezing every piece of my exposed flesh that he can reach.

"No! No!" I squeal. "N- Mmmmmmmm..."

Ron cuts me off with a deep kiss on my lips, which I readily part for him as I moan with blissful pleasure into his mouth. For a few moments, all that can be heard is the sound of our lips smacking together with an easy give-and-take. Godric, how I love kissing him!

It has been eight years since we helped our best friend, Harry Potter, defeat Lord Voldemort in the Second Wizarding War. Battle and open hostilities have a strange way of making you see what is really important in life, and to live without regrets. Ron and I know that better than most, for it was in the middle of the literal battle for our world that we shared our first kiss and embarked on a romantic relationship that we had wanted for years.

All that's left is for him to propose to me. I've been waiting for him to drop to one knee, gaze up at me with that adorable, lopsided grin of his and ask me to marry him. Be his wife, Mrs. Hermione Weasley. I can't be sure, but I think he might have a ring lying around and is just waiting for the right moment...

Ron's fingers cup the flesh of my ass through my jeans, reminding me that he is still there and kissing me rather indecently. Sometimes, the way he kisses me can make me black out for a moment or two. Smirking against his mouth, I firmly hoist his hand back up to my waist, swatting at his palm as I do so.

"Ronald... Mmmmmm... your mother is downstairs..."

"Yes. Downstairs," he breathes, as his lips spring from mine and he begins to plant open-mouthed suckles down my neck. My eyes flutter and I yank Ron closer with a low groan, curving my neck to allow him better access. "She's not gonna come looking for us in the attic; she hasn't been up here in ages... on account of the ghoul..."

His mouth slams back into mine and I eagerly slither my tongue about his, playing with it in my own mouth almost absentmindedly.

"As much as I would like... for you to make love to me right this very moment..." and I buck my hips against his clearly burgeoning erection, his hardness for me "... I would prefer to wait until after we are married, love." There. Maybe then he'll take the hint.

Ron pulls out of our deep kiss with a beaming smile. I gaze at him, my eyes wide, my heart nearly stopping. Oh Merlin... could this be it? And then...

"You've been talking with my Mum too much, haven't you?"

I laugh, rolling my eyes as I slap a hand into his chest. "Oh, sod off!" I don't need to get into a conversation with Molly Weasley to know how she feels on love, marriage, and premarital sex. Pushing Ron half-heartedly away from me, we begin to amble about the attic, poking around at every little odd and end.

"You've never brought me up here before," I observe.

Ron shrugs as he rifles through an old trunk. "Never had a reason to, even after we kicked the ghoul out. Not much up here worth exploring." His cavalier attitude surprises me. Coming from a poor family, I would only presume that every little trinket, no matter how old, would hold some sort of sentimental value. Then again, maybe doing more without than with gave the family I wish to marry into a better appreciation for the finer things in life. Memories. Family. A life not beholden to materialism.

"Hello... what's this?"

I turn about, shaken out of my thoughts by my boyfriend's voice. It is coming from a darkened corner of the attic. I raise my wand. "Lumos." The bulb of light emanates from the tip, basking Ron in an ethereal glow, as well as the nightstand he is crouched besides. One of its drawers - the top one - is open. Kneeling beside him, I crane around his handsomely large head to get a better look.

Two rings lie side by side, half-covered in dust, inside the drawer. No other objects appear alongside them. Aside from these two bands, the drawer is empty. A waste of space, I should say.

I eye Ron from the side heavily, a smirk tugging at my rouged and very kissed lips, still tingling from the pressure of his. "Is this your idea of an engagement, love?"

Ron starts, and for a moment, I wonder if I have found him out. I prepare to stalk from the room in a prissy huff if proven true. If this is his idea of proposing marriage to me, he is sorely mistaken.

But then he laughs. "Bloody hell, no. I would never be that cheap with you, my darling. I won't be, I promise." Buoyed by the allusion to a proposal sometime in the near future, I peck a kiss to his lips lightly, happily.

"Even so..." Ron murmurs, picking one ring up in each hand. "Best try them on for size, yeah?" He hands me one golden band, and plucks the other between his thumb and forefinger. "Hermione Jean Granger, with this ring, I thee wed."

I smile, trying to cover the swooning gasp in my throat, as I hold up my own ring. "Ronald Bilius Weasley, with this ring, I thee wed."

And we both slip them on at the same time. Not perfect fits, but decent. They stay on, at least.

It proves to be a startling mistake.

The wind in the attic suddenly picks up, as if a storm, a hurricane, is moving in, threatening to tear the Burrow apart. I scoot closer to Ron, as he wraps his arms around me, to shield me from whatever danger may come.

"Ronald, what's happening?" I shriek over the howling of the wind. It can't be more Dark Magic, not after all these years... can it?

Ron squeezes me close to his body, planting a kiss on my temple. "I love you, Hermione!" he bellows.

It is the last thing I hear before the dusty attic, the Burrow, fades around us, sucking my boyfriend and I into an amoebic oblivion...


	3. World Turned Upside Down

**Chapter 3: World Turned Upside Down**

**Katniss's POV**

I wake up to my back lying flat against a warm, soft mattress. And an even warmer body brushing up against me.

My eyelashes flutter as Peeta Mellark, the Baker, comes into sharper focus. I can feel his erection straining against his pants, grinding into my side. His want for me is clear. I remember our impulsive tryst last night out by the loading dock, and how he carried me inside last night. Likely let me sleep in his bed all night, and as far as I'm aware, did nothing to take advantage of me in my slumber, despite his ache to have me tight around him again. I have to appreciate his restraint; few men in District 12 could be so resolute. What a consummate gentleman.

Pulling him into my arms, I crash my lips against his in an open-mouthed kiss, complete with tongue, and we quickly become very involved. Clasping him close in my embrace, my hands palming his rippling back muscles, we roll around the bed in each other's arms, our eyes closed firmly shut. My moans of pleasure are the only sound that can be heard. "Mmmm... Hmmmmmm..."

We finally halt with Peeta on top and me spread-eagled beneath him. The moment Peeta's finger delicately creep up my thighs, my legs spread wide of their own accord. I keen into him desperately, suddenly thirsty to have a man between my legs again.

"Peeta... Mmmm... please fill me... Now..."

Peeta does not deny me. He thrusts into me seamlessly, and unlike last night, I do not feel the pain. The pain of something unfamiliar. Indeed, it is recognizable, and I crave it. I snap my hips up to meet his, slam for slam. Underneath us, the bed creaks and sways with protest. My perky breasts with rosebud nipples jiggle with every motion we make, and I have to ball the sheets and other bedclothes up in my fists to keep from tumbling end over end into a blissful deliriousness.

"Uhhh... Guhhh... Muhhh! Oh my... Peeta... Mmmmmm..." A content smile comes over my face and I have to wonder why I never came to the attentive Baker for a good screw before.

My toes curl as I feel the dam about to burst, and squeezing my leg muscles tight to trap Peeta within me, I cry, "FUCK!" as I cum with a blast all over him. Peeta collapses on top of me with a grunt as he finishes seconds later.

Only several minutes of good hard lovemaking and we both have already worked up a sweat. And from the light shining on my slick skin from the curtained windows, it is still only morning. Peeta kisses me deeply, and I allow it. We lock each other in a heated gaze, and I am just about to demand that he bed me again, when -

We hear a sharp knock coming from downstairs. "Oh hell!" Peeta huffs, pulling swiftly out of me and swinging off the edge of the bed. He cleanses himself as best he can and dresses, while I watch him, stretched out like a cat and blissfully naked. It doesn't even occur to me, or at least give me much concern, that Primrose will be up by now and probably wondering where I am. My, how my attitudes have changed over the past few hours! I never expected to be seduced, swept off my feet into bed, but now that I have been...

Peeta pecks me on the lips firmly. "I'll be back, sweetheart." And he slips downstairs.

* * *

**Hermione's POV**

When Ron and I finally emerge from whatever limbo we just traveled through, I feel woozy, lightheaded. The sensation is not unlike how I would feel after taking a Portkey for travel. The analogy makes me wonder... were those rings Portkeys? And as I get steadily to my feet, I also ponder: is this place... wherever it is... even safe? Were those rings hidden away in some inconspicuous drawer so that no one would be sent here unnecessarily and put at risk?

"Where are we?" Ron asks, and his tightening grip against my hand helps me remember that he is here with me, for which I am grateful.

We are in the middle of a dirty, cobblestone street, the air around us thick with grey and dust and soot. It is not too much of a departure from some of the more seedy boulevards in London, or Knockturn Alley.

The houses and buildings around us are quaint enough; distinctly middle class. Structurally better than the Burrow, but not by too much. Peering further into the hazy gloom, with the sunlight peeking through a thick overcast of clouds, I can make out the outlines of other homes that look more in keeping with the Burrow, several yards down the way. The poorest of the poor must live down there.

"We have to figure out where we are and what we're doing here," Ron says firmly. I can see his blue eyes scanning in every direction, soaking in every detail like a sponge. He finally points to an imposing stone edifice a good distance behind us. "That looks pretty official. A government building, I reckon. Let's go there."

As he pulls me by the hand into the midst of the street, we suddenly collide with a regiment of men in white-plated uniforms, none of whom even stop or adjust to let us past. Indeed, they brush right by us roughly, so that Ron nearly goes toppling into an open doorway. "OI!"

One of the soldiers - at least I presume him to be a soldier, from the make of his uniform - turns about sharply for the briefest of moments and sends us a look of pure stone. I gulp. Memories of being accosted by Death Eaters suddenly come flooding back to me, and I have a feeling that these troops would more than identify with such thuggery. I am proven right when a group of the white soldiers beat an elderly woman who does not get out of the way fast enough.

"Gang wars. Blimey. Maybe... we should call the police," Ron suggests.

My eyes refuse to glance away, even whilst Ronald tugs at my hand insistently, so that I observe another band of white soldiers seize a shopkeeper and fling him into a set or nearby stocks. "Those  _are_  the police," I nervously inform my boyfriend. The fiercest police force I've ever seen - our Aurors back home would never stoop to such tactics. Even though I can't be absolutely certain, I have a sinking feeling that my claim is true.

Ron now seems decidedly less sure that we should investigate the Big Gray Building in the distance, and appears to be looking for any abode that might seem remotely inviting. After the display we have just witnessed, any act of kindness, no matter how trivial, would be a step up. "There!"

He points across the street to what I deduce must be a bakery, what with all the pastries and confectioneries in the display windows. I offer no qualms this time as Ron drags me towards the door, and we knock before letting ourselves in after no reply is immediately forthwith. Who knows when those white, jackbooted thugs will be back?

It is a very nice shop, warm and cozy, but quiet. It is probably early morning here, wherever we are; we just might be the first customers of the day.

"I'm coming!" a voice suddenly calls from somewhere in the back. A young man roughly our age, looking slightly disheveled, now emerges. "Welcome to Mellark's Bakery. What can I do for you?"

Right away, I am struck by how the young man's ashy blonde hair catches the light, so that it shines like spun gold. He has a warm, kind face. And those eyes... eyes as blue as a summer sky...

I glance away, an odd heat coming to my cheeks, as Ron does the talking for us. "My name is Ron Weasley, and this is my fiancé, Hermione Granger." He pulls me flush against his side. "We are refugees."

The young man frowns. "Refugees almost never come here. Most intra-district travel is against Panem law."

Panem... is that where we are? I feel my blood pressure start to rise, and I wonder if Ron should have come up with a better lie, even concealed our identities for good measure. Reaching behind me, I get a hand on my wand and keep it there, ready at a moment's notice.

I can almost see the gears turning in Ron's head as he thinks fast. "Well... we are an exception... because..."

Just then, outside the window, I see a batallion of the white soldiers get into formation. "Peacekeepers, fall in!" a commander calls.

"I'm a new Peacekeeper recruit! A Captain!" Ron suddenly blurts out.

The young baker raises an eyebrow with intrigue, but even I can see how he partially stiffens, almost in fear, as he regards my boyfriend with fresh eyes, now armed with new information. "I see. Well, welcome to District 12, Captain Weasley! I hope you find your new commission to your liking." His gaze now falls on me. "You must be of important rank, sir, if you were allowed to bring your fiancé with you to live in the Barracks." I take his inference as a compliment, for both Ronald and for me, and another bout of rosy pink comes to my cheeks. The young baker now holds out his hand. "Peeta Mellark, at your service, sir and madame."

At that moment, a voice echoes closer as it proceeds from upstairs. "Peeta? Are you coming back to bed...?" A pretty young woman with brown hair and smoldering grey eyes stops short in the back doorway leading into the shop proper. Her brow creases in curiosity, almost mistrust, at the sight of us. We must look very touristy, or at least out of place.

"Oh, is this your wife, Mr. Mellark?" I ask. "Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. A pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

Peeta unexpectedly laughs. "Oh no, we're not... this is Katniss Everdeen. Katniss, this gentleman is a new Peacekeeper Captain here and was allowed to have his fiancé accompany him. Isn't that wonderful?" What Katniss's relation to Peeta might be is left unclassified, but even so, I feel an odd sense of relief wash over me at the all but declaration that she and Peeta are not married.

"Lovely," the pretty young woman deadpans. Katniss is still staring at Ronald and I with an air of wariness. "What district are you from?"

"District 10," Ron answers quickly, lies with ease. Only I detect the barely perceptible bobble in his answer. At least there is a good chance that a District 10 exists, if there is a District 12.

"Well, welcome to the poorest district in Panem, where you can starve in safety!" Katniss greets us. Peeta gapes at her with something resembling panic, and I wonder if such a statement is punishable by these Peacekeepers. Only then do I remember that Peeta probably looks so uncomfortable because my... fiancé has just professed to be such a Peacekeeper. "You may find that business is pretty slow here. Our Peacekeeper force is rather mellow."

I wince without meaning to.  _If what we saw outside was mellow_ , I think,  _I never want to know what high-strung looks like._

Peeta seems to be scrambling to save face; clearly Katniss spoke out of turn in some way. "Katniss is very familiar with the Peacekeeping force here; she does quite a bit of business with them. She'd be more than happy to get you acclimated, Captain Weasley. Won't you, sweetheart?"

Katniss gapes at him in abject disbelief, the shock quickly replaced by a harsh scowl. But Peeta pays it no heed, nudging Katniss back from around the counter, so that she practically stumbles into my boyfriend's arms, as he graciously moves to catch her from falling.

Katniss and Ronald stare at each other for a moment, until Katniss scowls again and grabs my boyfriend by the wrist. "Come along,  _Captain_ ," she snarls, tugging him out of the Bakery. I move to follow, wanting to keep up the slight ruse, but Peeta's voice stops me:

"A Peacekeeper doesn't make much better wages than the rest of us do, Ms. Granger. If it would make you and your fiancé more financially comfortable as you get situated, I would be happy to hire you here."

He smiles at me with an easy grin. I smile back. I like his smile. It is warm and easy, and makes you feel like you have a friend - probably sorely needed, in a harsh, unforgiving environment like this.

"All right, thank you, Mr. Mellark."

"Peeta," he corrects.

"OK...  _Peeta_." I grin.

At least it is something to do until Ron and I can decipher the function of those rings and we can get out of here.


	4. Kinship of the Poor

**Chapter 4: Kinship of the Poor**

**Katniss's POV**

The scowl does not leave my face as I march Ron Weasley, the new Peacekeeper Captain, across the line separating Town from the Seam. I am only vaguely aware of the redhead's wrist clutched in my palm, and how the touch of his skin makes my own feel clammy, which only adds to my displeasure.

I have known betrayal for many years, but no amount of time can ever erase how each and every betrayal stings. This one smarts all the worse because it's my own damn fault. I let myself become so vulnerable that I broke my vow of chastity. Yes, while it was originally broken out of economic necessity (I had already told myself it didn't matter with whom I broke it), I allowed myself to...  _enjoy_  it. I allowed myself to enjoy the pleasure of Peeta's company, as he took my body to new heights with his hands, his penis and his mouth. I thought, that if there was anyone whom I could even remotely tolerate becoming involved in a romantic relationship with, it would be the Baker - a man known for his kind and honest reputation.

But I guess I was wrong. The first chance he got, he cast me aside after he had his fill of me, passed me off practically to some naive Peacekeeper Captain, fresh off the train!

At least, that is the vibe I get from Ron, with his face as red as his hair - how it has remained since we began our little walk. I roll my eyes and huff in disgust - Panem, it's like he's never been around girls before, but then again, many Peacekeepers are sexually naive, recruits and veterans alike. Which is surprising, considering this Peacekeeper is engaged to be married. His fiancé, that Hermione, is quite attractive; she could easily manage as a Merchant here. Would have hundreds of men lining up to Toast the bread with her.

And I wouldn't be surprised if Peeta  _Fucking_  Mellark was first in line.

I know I am headed precisely in the opposite direction of the Peacekeeper Barracks. I intend to give Ron a grand tour of this pathetic little district, first from the Seam - the district fence, really - and then working my way back through Town, making the Barracks our last stop. Odds are he will have to patrol every inch of this shithole before his career is through; he might as well know where everything is so he doesn't get lost.

As we approach my house, I see Primrose come out onto the front porch to greet us, and I am once again reminded, with a flush of embarrassment, how I didn't come home last night.

"Where have you been?" my baby sister demands, hands on her hips.

I glower at her, silently telling her to drop it. "Out," I reply shortly. I give a jerk of my wrist, yanking Ron uncomfortably forward. "And I have to show this wet-behind-the-ears Peacekeeper around."

"What for?" Prim blinks in surprise.

"I didn't exactly have much choice," I mumble, but if this comment gives Prim cause for concern, she doesn't raise any further objections. Ron barely has a chance to wave a sheepish hello in greeting to my sister before I am dragging him to the district fence.

"Here is the border of the District - the outermost edge of your patrol," I state flatly. I leave out the part about how I redefine the outer edge of this district quite frequently and with impunity. I point to the high crest of a hill just in the distance. "At the top there is Victors' Village, housing all one of our district's Victors from the Hunger Games. Guy who lives there is a drunken louse; all you have to do is make sure he isn't dead from too much booze." I point back in the direction we just came. "We just left Town, which features the Town Square and other sights we will get to shortly..." I gesture all around me, "... and this here is the Seam."

Man, am I quite the tour guide. Ron takes all this in silently, without saying a word. Until:

"Is that your house? That we just stopped at?"

The question throws me, and for some bizarre reason, I find myself blushing crimson at his query. "Yeah. What about it?"

Ron shakes his head. "You don't have to be ashamed. My house... where I grew up... it looks like that. Probably worse."

I blink in surprise, letting the scowl wipe off my face. I hadn't expected this. Every Peacekeeper, to a man, is significantly richer than the constituents they serve. If we here in the Seam are dirt poor, the Peacekeepers are working class, just comfortable enough to make ends meet for themselves. And if this guy came from District 10, as he claims, then he and his fiancé were probably a lot better off economically than they ever will be here. Treatment of everyone from Peacekeepers on down varies from district to district, or so I have heard. The livestock in Ten alone... All we have here in Twelve is coal. Utterly worthless beyond our measly hearths.

"And I know what it's like to starve. Not... have enough. My mother had eight mouths to feed, including me."

This shocks me. I try to imagine hunting for myself, Prim, Mother and an additional five people. I find myself strangely drawn towards this bashful youth in a way I hadn't been before. I suddenly want to know his life story, one in which he almost certainly rose from District 10 squalor to join the Peacekeepers ranks, and then earned a promotion. Or demotion, depending on your point of view: a commission to District 12 would be a step down from  _any_  other district, whether it was deserved or not.

But what strikes me all the more is how Ron could tell that I had known hunger. He probably took one look at my body and connected the dots himself, and I unconsciously hug my arms around my thin frame. I am mostly skin and bones, even despite my best efforts. Not particularly pretty - that title goes to Primrose, no contest.

I find the question tumbling from my throat before I can stop it: "I manage as well as I am able. Would you like to see how I hunt?"

At one time, and with anyone else who takes up the Peacekeeper creed, I would never have uttered these words aloud, as I would essentially be surrendering my freedom and probably my life away. Admitting to treason. And yet, as I stare into Ron's deep, robin's-egg blue eyes, I get the sense that I can trust him. Perhaps in the same way that I thought I could trust Peeta, but ultimately couldn't.

So when Ron nods his head Yes, I put up my defenses again. At the first sign of trouble, if he breaks my trust, I may just have to shoot him before he could go running to his superiors. My course of action decided, I turn on my heel and wriggle under the chainlink fence. I hear the clatter behind me and know that Ron will follow.

* * *

I guide Ron through the Meadow, daring to admit how I used to come here with my parents and my sister when I was a little girl. We hit the treeline soon enough, and before long, we arrive at the fallen, hollow log where I store my father's bows and arrows.

"Follow me. And try to make no noise." I don't expect Ron to follow this lofty expectation, but despite his large build, he does not have a heavy tread. He is able to keep surprisingly light on his feet, not rustling any of the leaves.

At the slope of a hill, we peer upwards at the large buck grazing on the thick green grass. I motion to Ron, to whom I have now given a bow. Even though I have no idea if he is a good shot with it. It is so strange, how I can suddenly go from being a stranger to him this morning to now almost... trusting him with my life.

Taking a deep breath, I string the arrow in the notch and fire.

The shot goes too wide and too high, zinging over the animal's back even as he raises his head in alert. He takes off running right for us. I shoot again and miss, huffing in frustration.

"Get it!" I snap to no one in particular. I hear the WHIZZ of an arrow as Ron too fires, but no telltale THUNK follows it. The buck leaps over us and has just landed to make his final escape when -

He topples over, an arrow piercing his side, collapsing dead a yard or so behind us. And it might just be my imagination, or a trick of the sunshine and greenery all around us, but I think I see a crackle of green light fading from around the arrow.

I turn to Ron, secretly impressed. "How did you do that?"

He shrugs self-deprecatingly. "Fast learner, I guess."

I regard him for another moment, my eyes locked on his. His gaze is just as fierce when trained on me. Something about how this man looks at me makes my stomach do flip-flops - a sensation I only used to ever experience when watching Peeta from afar for years, pining in my repressed sexuality. Feeling that phenomenon return again now, the butterflies in my stomach... I don't...  _know_  if I like it or not. Right now, I can't say with certainty that I  _absolutely_  don't like it. But I am afraid of liking how he looks at me. I couldn't -  _can't_  - risk my heart again. Not after Peeta Mellark swept me into bed, only to cast me aside as soon as his lust was satiated. Besides, this guy is to be  _married_  soon! I would never stoop so low as to risk breaking up a presumably happy relationship. There are enough women like that here in District 12. Finally, I nod to Ron slowly. "Good shot."


	5. Appreciation of Art

**Chapter 5: Appreciation for Art**

**Hermione's POV**

I have always prided myself on mastering every challenge I have been faced with. The most complicated of spells, I learned. How to ballroom dance when I was the date of a Triwizard Champion, I learned. How to finally confess my feelings for the man I loved since I was a little girl, I learned that too.

So it is maddening, how I am unable to learn the basic skills for kneading a good loaf of bread batter. I finally throw down the mangled specimen I have been working on with a scowl - only to have a coat of powdered yeast flare up in my face. I cough incessantly until the substance has faded away.

I hear a sharp laugh from down the counter. Peeta has been watching me for quite some time with an increasingly amused expression on his face. As much as I secretly enjoy his laugh, I don't find it helpful at the moment. How am I supposed to even cook for my future husband, for the children we hope to have one day together? At least, I hope we will have that soon, once the lovable tosser works up the nerve to ask me for my hand in marriage. Of course, I have my opinions on how I want my life to go, and it is a very structured vision. I want to have a career in the Ministry for Magic, marry and become the bride and spouse for Mr. Ronald Weasley. Raise his babies. I want it all, as any woman would. Feminism to the highest degree.

"Why don't we take a break?" Peeta suggests.

I smile sheepishly at him. "That's your gentle way of saying I suck at this, and you're trying to buy us time until you can work up a good excuse to fire me."

The lengthy quip throws Peeta for a moment, and he blinks before chuckling. "Not in the least. Everybody has their natural talents, and everybody has their skills. There's a difference between the two, you know."

I wrinkle my brow with an amused, pensive smile. How eloquent. I never thought about it that way before. I suppose I am what you would call, by Peeta's logic, naturally talented at scholastics. And magic. Skilled... making love to my boyfriend. Being sexually assertive. I've had to work hard at both of those, that's for sure. It took him years, but Ron eventually turned me into an intermediate Exploding Snap player. Competent at Wizards' Chess. Those are learned skills, too.

"Well, I'm a lot better at reading and..." I stop short before I say the word  _'magic'_  accidentally. "... reading. Certainly better than pounding dough at the moment."

Peeta leans against the counter, studying me. "Really?" His genuinely interested smile brings a fresh pink to my cheeks. I feel comfortable enough to open up about something that only Ronald and Harry know. "When I was in school... where I come from... my peers used to say I was a funny girl, but I'm not sure they meant it as a compliment."

I expect Peeta to giggle or something at how I all but have confessed that I am a nerd. Instead, he catches my eyes with a sympathetic stare. "I'm sorry. District 10 sounds terrible!"

Remembering the charade that Ron created for us, I go along, smirking sardonically. "Almost as lonely as your bakery." He flinches for a moment, but only in a startled way. I bravely decided to press on. "How long has it just been you here, anyway?"

His impossibly blue eyes darken, and I regret right away my inquiry. Bad idea. Rough subject. "Eight years," he finally gets out quietly. "Since I turned 18. Since just after my last Reaping."

I blink, perplexed, and I must not be able to hide my confusion quickly enough, for I see Peeta give me a funny look. I cover as best I can by giving a forced laugh, as if I am kicking myself for forgetting. "Ah, the Reaping! Of course!" I make a mental note to research this Reaping through every book I can get my hands on.

There is a moment of thick silence between us, until I suddenly feel Peeta almost right at my side. I dare to glance up into his face.

"Can I show you something?" he smiles. And taking my hand before I can object, he leads me out of the front shop and down a flight of stairs, into what must be the bakery's basement. I try to ignore the rosy pink in my face all over again, and now along with it, the increased pounding of my heart. I shouldn't be feeling this way. I have a finacé! Or at least, Peeta  _thinks_  I do! But all the same, I can't find it within me to not discover for myself what Peeta has to show me.

Flicking on a dim, overhead bulb, just enough light fills the room. I would use Lumos on my wand to help, if I didn't have a strong suspicion that no magic exists in whatever land (and perhaps time) I am in. And even if that caution wasn't present, I would probably not think to use my wand, for what I now see takes my breath away.

The basement is filled with canvas after canvas of the most brilliant, beautiful, striking paintings I have ever seen.

"Oh my Godri... God, did you paint all of these?"

In the dim light, I see Peeta blush for probably the first time since I met him. "Uh... yeah. I usually work with my brushes at night, after the bakery is closed. A little before bed helps... calm me down."

Walking through this makeshift gallery, I inspect each and every canvas. There is a snapshot of the most beautiful sunrise (or is it sunset? I have never been able to make the distinction between the two in images like this) probably ever depicted.

"Sunrise?"

"Sunset," Peeta corrects me. "That shade of orange... it's my favorite color."

 _Beautiful_ , I think.  _Just like you_. I mentally slap myself. Did I just... I shake my head to clear it and move on to the next one. This canvas is one of the few covered by a sheet. When I throw it back and it falls away, I clap a hand to my mouth in shocked dismay.

The portrait features a young child - probably no older than a young teenager - lying flat on his back, bleeding to death. The reds of the gore and blood seep seamlessly into the grays of the rocky terrain on which he spends his last moments. It almost looks like a photograph, it appears so real. What could have possibly inspired Peeta to paint  _this_? I am anxious to ask him myself, but I somehow cannot find the words. Seeing this... child... dying... I am taken back, quite sharply, to the Battle of Hogwarts a short eight years ago, where I watched the real bodies of real people in real time and space... fade away.

I squeeze my eyes shut and ball my hands until my knuckles turn white. We all have PTSD - Harry, Ron and I - and I would be the first to argue that they have it the worst, Harry especially, of all people. But I saw my fair share of horror. I was tortured by a sadistic Death Eater, and still have the scars to prove it. I still don't know how Ronald and I are going to explain that to any little child we might have, any son or daughter of ours.

My skin tingles as I feel someone brush against my shoulders. It is Peeta, rubbing me there soothingly. I find myself unconsciously leaning back into his warmth, barely suppressing a low moan of contentment. I thought I was something of an expert on magic, but  _this_  is an entirely new kind.

Peeta's delicate hands pause before I am ready for them to. I open my eyes and crane my neck around, so I can look him right in the face. He is gazing at me with a comforting, gentle, but still sad smile. "Let's go back upstairs," he murmurs. "And why don't you go on home for the night? I'm sure your fiancé will be wondering where you are."

Yes. Ron... I feel an odd sort of disappointment when he is now mentioned. It is as if I don't want this moment with... Peeta... to end. "Of course. Good night," I take my leave.

All the while, I feel Peeta's eyes at my back.


	6. Giving In

**Chapter 6: Giving In**

**Katniss's POV**

As the weeks pass and the seasons change, Ron and I gradually grow closer. Not long after our duel with the buck, the young Peacekeeper Captain becomes a regular on my hunts at least once a day. It has been so long since I have had a hunting buddy, my former companion - Gale Hawthorne - having died in a mine collapse several years ago. Coming back from his death has been hard, and I find myself being unusually open with Ron about even this.

At first, Ron's eagerness to come along on my hunts leaves me suspicious, especially when he often insists on embarking upon it while still wearing his white-plated uniform. He's a Peacekeeper. Isn't accompanying someone over the district fence on an illegal mission technically going against his commanding officer's orders? I have to brush the concern aside when I remember that some Peacekeepers actually have traded with me for illegal contraband in the Hob, when their orders dictate that they should really be burning the black market to the ground and throwing every offending vendor in the stocks. Ron is merely finding the loopholes that have been left gaping wide in District 12 policing policy going back decades. And besides, he's a Captain, of decently high rank, perhaps he feels his job will be protected no matter what treasonous activities he indulges in now and again. Cray certainly doesn't give a shit, by and large, about what the men under his command do or even how they do it; it's a wonder the old man's ass hasn't been fired, or at the very least commissioned a transfer and hurried quietly away.

Ultimately, I have to figure that Ron knows what he's doing, and that - as he has already proven to me - he won't tell a soul about how I came to collect such good game. Or more importantly, where.

Ron makes his home with the others in the Peacekeeper Barracks with little fanfare, shacking up in a tiny hut with his fiancé, Hermione. A Peacekeeper living with a spouse or mistress or any woman at all has never been seen before, at least not in this district. If there is one thing Cray is strict about, it's that his men lead a militarized lifestyle infused with almost blanket celibacy. Perhaps this is because Cray wants to keep all the lovely pickings all to himself. Or perhaps he knows if he gives his troops too loose a leash, word could get back to the Capitol and he really could get fired. And a transgression like that might be the only thing that would do it. Not that it would matter if, say, an officer committed sexual assault and the victim outed them. We ordinary citizens have very little to almost zero power here in District 12. The Peacekeepers keep a monopoly on nearly all of that, too. If Cray ever was toppled from his perch, it would be because the bad PR would bring too much to bear on President Snow's regime.

In any event, Captain Ronald Weasley appears to have it all figured out.

Before I know it, a full year and a half has passed since the engaged couple mysteriously just appeared here in District 12. But the pair have acclimated well, soon conversing with the locals - Town and Seam alike - as if they have always lived here. Peeta was right when he said that intra-district refugees are almost nonexistent, that day that Ron and Hermione first arrived. District 12, like all other districts, is closed off and self-contained, right down to its people. Everybody has known everybody else for decades. One might say we are all practically inbred; almost everybody is somehow related to each other here, even across Town and Seam lines sometimes. The only question is by how many degrees. Many people often said that Gale and I could conceivably pass as cousins, our Seam features resembled each other so.

Now, it is winter once again, and the little I have managed to trek into the woods with Ron has told me that it will prove to be as unforgiving a winter as the last one was, if not more so.

Sometimes, I try to muddle through, and other times the snowbanks are so deep, or the tracks and scat so few and far between, that I have to throw in the towel for the day and return to the Hob close to empty-handed. It is at these moments that Ron will often doggedly struggle on alone. He's determined, I'll grant him that much. And he has come so far in his hunting abilities since just 18 short months ago. He has a family to feed, too - that beautiful fiancé of his, soon-to-be-wife. It is with an odd pang that I wonder when they will Toast the bread, or perform whatever marriage ritual is common back in their District 10 homeland.

One winter's evening, I get finished late in keeping Prim's and my house. I had a lot of more... domestic chores today that I largely despise doing, so that they are often put off until nearly all our clothes smell, or the leak just cannot be ignored any longer. I couldn't meet Ron to go hunting this morning; odds are he went alone. But I want to at least get one kill in - a squirrel, maybe - before retiring for the night. I kind of have to: squirrel might be the best we can get for supper. That my family is still barely staving off starvation, despite my most determined efforts, is depressing. That Prim's child, my niece, is still alive is remarkable. I don't want her to suffer needlessly.

The sun is sinking over the tops of the treeline as I enter the woods beyond the fence. I figure myself to be alone, especially at this late hour, and I will have to hurry before dusk, because that's when the district fence goes on. It is really supposed to be on all year round, around the clock, but... just another license Cray has taken with his own job. All the same, I don't exactly fancy climbing the large tree whose branch extends over the chainlink and dropping from there to the ground. It is not exactly the safest escape route in the world, so I don't employ it if I can avoid doing so. These factors make me hurry, be less cautious than I normally would.

So I am surprised when I hear a rustling in the leaves beside me. I'm not alone.

Warily, but inquisitively, I follow the rustling into an expansive clearing, largely devoid of trees or any other underbrush. Just across the clearing, at another edge of it, is Ron, partially concealed amidst the foliage. He does not see me, but I follow his gaze to what he is staring at: a prize bear. One of the biggest I have ever seen.

My heart leaps into my throat, for myself but mostly for him. Bear is one of the few meats I don't pursue in my hunts, and for good reason: I'm too small. I couldn't possibly take down game that size! And yet Ron thinks he can, on what I would only term a suicide mission.

But Ron doesn't fire an arrow. He doesn't even remove his bow - the one I gifted him not long after his first excursion with me. Instead, he pulls a medium-sized stick from his pocket... and points it at the bear.

He's going to try and take down a grazing black bear several times his own size... with a stick. What is he thinking?

"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!" he bellows.

The bear doesn't even have a chance to run. His entire body suddenly goes rigamortis, all over, without explanation. The animal topples to the ground. Ron is as calm as can be, not even approaching for a closer inspection. He points the stick again. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

A flash of green light surrounds the bear, hitting it full on for a moment before disappearing. A memory from our first hunt together comes back to me - the green flash of light I thought I saw around the arrow when Ron took down that buck.

"Now you're dead," Ron says seemingly to himself. "Katniss will be pleased with the meal you'll bring."

I am speechless. The bear is...  _dead_? Just like that? And what's more: he brought it down for me? Not for Hermione, but for  _me_?

I dare to emerge from the trees, a hand over my mouth in astonishment, while I stare at Ron as though I have never seen him before.

As soon as Ron meets my gaze, he jumps in a panic, obviously not expecting me.

"How did you do that?" I whisper. "Who are you?" I have to know.

Ron quickly regains his easy smile. "You might not believe me if I told you. But it doesn't change a whole lot. Katniss... I'm still me!" And he takes my hand with a reassuring grin once I am within his reach.

I frown, somewhat skeptically, almost amused. I peer at him the way a child might, trying to figure something out. Shaking, I reach out a hand and run my fingers through the long red hair at the nape of his neck, pondering it. Then, my gaze shifts so I can stare into those deep, bashful, robin's-egg blue eyes...

My face widens into a relieved beam of recognition. Ron would never lie to me. I have never trusted any man the way I trust him. "It  _is_  you!" I cry out, reaching out to cup his cheek.

The intimacy of the action is bold, especially for me, so I shiver when Ron actually caresses his big paw of a hand across my face, though I smile shyly. Our stares lock as we gaze into each other's eyes. And there it is again, how I am drawn to him like a magnet. Ron has now cupped my entire face in his hands, tilting my chin upwards. I barely register how my hands, which have somehow come to rest lightly against his chest, are now curling into fists, bunching the fabric of his white tunic. Ron dips his head closer. The tiny, rational part of my brain is screaming at me that this is wrong, that this man is engaged to another woman, wishes to marry her. And yet, I don't care, as I admit to myself the pining attraction I have felt for Ron, and a simmering jealousy for Hermione, for all these many months.

What tips the scale is Ron's voice ringing in my head, even though his face has given no indication of speaking any words aloud:  _Kiss me, Katniss. Now._

It is as though my brain is no longer my own. I prime myself to obey without question. Tilting my head, I permit Ron to close the gap between us and kiss me full on the mouth. Instantly, my eyes close.

All at once, the wind picks up. A tornado of blue light suddenly surrounds us. Startled, I throw my arms about Ron's neck so that my hands splay across his muscular back, parting my pliant lips for his hard, unyielding ones so as to deepen the kiss. My brown hair comes loose from its braid and literally stands on end, flapping upwards like a banner; Ron's lengthy crop of red hair seems to have done the same. It matters not at the present moment. All I want to do is kiss Captain Ronald Weasley senseless.

And as I kiss this man, and as he kisses me back, I hear a piercing WHEEZ, followed by explosions, as though our kiss has literally sent fireworks whizzing and exploding into the nighttime sky above District 12. And after what I have just witnessed, I would not be surprised if that was exactly the case.

After a long moment, Ron and I reluctantly pull out of the kiss, our arms still around each other, the blue inferno gone. I gape in utter shock. This was the best kiss I have ever received in my life, quite honestly, and that is saying something, considering I only have the taste of one other man's lips to compare it to. But Ron Weasley is a far better kisser than Peeta Mellark ever was. No contest. His stronger, more calloused hands felt better against my skin than those of the young Baker.

"What was that?" I murmur, still shaken by the impossible things I have seen.

Ron grins broadly. "Magic. I'm a wizard, Katniss. I came here with Hermione after touching some magical rings, all the way from the year 2006."

I gasp. The current year here in Panem is early 2102. This man, the man I have fallen head over heels in love with, is some kind of  _sorcerer_? From nearly a century in the  _past_?

Ron must notice who improbable it sounds. He takes me in his arms anew gently. "Come, Katniss, would I ever lie to you?"

I think on it for a moment, but only for a moment, before catching his eyes and holding them. "No," I say simply. Then I yank his lips down so I can mash them against mine again.

* * *

**Hermione's POV**

The Bakery closed not too long ago. Peeta and I have been shut up inside, cleaning. And it's better that we are here. The evening chores allow us to avoid getting caught in the storm hanging over the Town and the Seam. Judging by the fading light of the sun in the distance, I notice the ominous clouds haven't quite reached the edge of the district, where Ron says there is a fence separating some woods beyond - a report from his first patrols as a Peacekeeper. But the storm will eventually head south towards there soon. I hope. I have to get home soon, back to the Barracks, and meet Ron when he brings home our dinner. I know he gets the game from the forests, at great risk to himself and his Peacekeeper duties; Katniss Everdeen apparently taught him how to hunt.

The clouds are so dark and gloomy, that Peeta has already lit the candles for the evening. Only residents affiliated with the Capitol - in other words, the local government - have access to electric light. I don't know how Peeta's family managed a lightbulb down in their basement - the only exception I can think of - but it's beat up anyway and serves its almost insignificant purpose well enough.

As I have come to know quite a lot in the past 18 months we have lived in Panem, all without discovering the secret to having the rings return Ron and I home, I can sense when Peeta is near me.

"You can stay with me tonight. If you don't want to deal with the rain." His soft voice sends a shiver down my spine, and butterflies fill my stomach in a way they most definitely should not. As they have whenever Peeta is close. Or looks at me. Or laughs or smiles.

I turn my head to look back at him, where he is standing behind and just to the side of me. "Oh no, I couldn't possibly..."

"Hermione:" Peeta's blue eyes... eyes as blue as a summer sky... smolder into my brown pupils, burning a hole into my very soul. I feel my eyelids grow heavy, my lashes flitting down only briefly as I dare to peek at Peeta's full lips. Peeta Mellark would have made a remarkable wizard, for the spell he has so clearly cast on me. The effect that he has on me...

The thought of Ron hovers just at the recesses of my mind, but it is enough for me to take pause. The potential here is something that can never be. We have to both see that...

"Peeta... I can't... I'm engaged..." He only drifts closer. "I'm engage-Mmmmm!" My words are cut off and I can only let out a confused whimper, as Peeta captures my lips with his. My eyes flutter shut in pleasure, and I stand stock-still, unwilling to pull away, as I allow myself to relax into the kiss. After a moment, we slide apart.

I stare at Peeta in wonder, my flushed and kissed lips slightly parted, letting in the gasp as I now fully realize what we have just done.

As I now fully realize I have fallen in love with another man, one who is not my "fiancé."

As I now fully realize how little I care.

"Bloody hell!" I snarl. Grabbing Peeta's shirt in my fists, I yank him forward and crash my mouth against his, kissing him back. Peeta closes his eyes in triumph as my hands caress his jawline, our lips molding and flexing into each other's oh so softly and easily. Kissing Peeta is like kissing feathers. Or butter. The smoothest touch I have ever known.

It is not long before I feel Peeta's arms scoop under my thighs, sweeping me off my feet. Draping my arms languidly about his neck, I allow him to carry me off...

* * *

**Katniss's POV**

The dark clouds rumble above us, warning of impending rain. Maybe even lightning.

I don't care. I have already been struck by a much  _better_  kind of lightning, its plasmic shock alighting me from the hairs on my head to the tips of my toes.

Deep in the clearing - our clearing - Ron wriggles on top of me as our sweaty, naked bodies undulate against each other. He is not a gentle lover, not in the way Peeta was, as he thrusts roughly in and out of me, making us look truly like two animals in heat. I don't mind. I like rough. I can handle rough, for I have my own fire. A fire within me that is as red hot as the roots of Ron's gorgeously long hair.

It is these locks of hair that I now sink my fingernails into, yanking Ron even deeper into a fierce and already plenty indecent kiss with a low groan. He doesn't seem to protest in the slightest. Our tongues are down each other's throats, battling for dominance to see who will be crowned the better kisser. Who will become the victor. The Victor of the Kissing Games. The Victor of the  _Fucking_  Games - literally.

Ron's lips spring from my own as he begins to plant open-mouthed kisses into the skin of my jaw and neck, occasionally biting with his teeth, nipping my flesh. Branding me, marking me as  _his_. I relish it.

I rock myself forward, snapping up to meet every slam of his penis into my tight, dripping wet vagina. I bare my teeth like a wild thing, aroused and without any pretense for being tender, much less polite. The first should not exist in the bedroom, in my humble opinion. The second just plain does not exist. In my bedroom, or anyone else's, or wherever people go to do the dirty deed, whether it's the mattress or the goddamn forest floor. "FUCK. ME. RON. FUCK ME HARD!"

He does as I command, throwing my spread-wide, bare thighs over his shoulders to work me at a better angle, hitting my favorite spots just right. Panem, not even Peeta learned, memorized my body this quickly.

I growl long and low as I clench my leg muscles around his torso, sealing him closer to me. At last -

"RONALD!" I have never called him by his full first name before, so perhaps that is what makes this first orgasm so special. As it should be special. Because Ron is special to me, no...  _extraordinary_. He's a  _wizard_  - with both that stick he calls a wand, as well as the... other wand he calls his dick.

Ron roars as he explodes inside of me a moment later, flopping on top of me, his weight nearly crushing me, but I keep him off just enough so I can breathe. Stopping to collect ourselves, we get lost in tender, passionate kisses, our lips smacking the only sounds other than the owls in the night...

* * *

**Hermione's POV**

I am covered in flour. It is in my bushy brown hair, on my clothes. On my skin. In the dripping wet folds of what makes me a woman, deposited there like pollen as Peeta's manhood slides in and out of me, moving along the best bloody sex I have  _ever_  had. And I have only taken one other man in my bed, only slept in the carnal sense with one other.

Our arms clasped tightly about each other in a heated embrace, our lips almost fused together, Peeta and I roll about the floor of the bakery's kitchen, back behind the counter where no one can see. It is a second round of lovemaking even more amazing than the first - from moments ago, when Peeta carried me grandly into the bakery's basement and had me up against the wall, by the light of the old electric bulb.

"Mmmm... Mmmmmm... Hmmmmmm..." I moan like a dirty London whore into Peeta's mouth, my lips vibrating against his and making him part his own lips for my tongue's safe passage. I smirk against his insistent mouth, very pleased with myself.

"I love you, Peeta!" I whisper into his kiss, my voice strangely hoarse from a likely lack of use, and the handsome baker trembles in my arms.

I love how Peeta makes love to me. He is gentle and kind and attentive - the exact opposite of Ron, who ascribed more to the method of sloppily kisses and ripping at my clothes so he could get me on my back fast.

At last, our rolling on the floor halts, and we rock slightly as I end up on top, straddling my bare thighs over Peeta's hips, my simple dress riding up high so as to reveal my naked ass, unencumbered by a clear lack of panties. (The offending garments are lying, tossed and crumpled, in some corner somewhere, as Peeta undressed with his hands as well as his eyes). Smiling impishly down at my paramour, I begin the roll of my hips starting down at my buttocks and all the way up my spine and bare back. The only thing keeping my dress on my body are my hips which are far too bony for my liking. But Peeta still stares at me adoringly. This kind, sweet man probably does not give hippogriff's arse what I look like. The way he gazes at me, I might as well be the most beautiful goddess in the world.

I throw back my head in ecstasy as Peeta rams his penis up into me. "Uhhhh... Grrrr... OHHHHH! Oh my... of my Godric... of my goodness..." My walls clench tight around his member, ready to milk all I can from him. My eyes roll into the back of my skull, my jaw goes nearly unhinged. "PEETA!" I cum harder than I ever had, than I ever did with Ron. I orgasm all around this Adonis of a man. Drooping in exhaustion over him, Peeta rewards my efforts with a deep, sensuous kiss that leaves me begging for more.

"You are  _amazing_ , love," he beams, and I acquiesce to his kissing me once again...


	7. Swapping Partners

**Chapter 7: Swapping Partners**

**Katniss's POV**

It is futile to try and hide the love bites littering the flesh of my neck. It is pointless for Peeta or me to pretend that  _he_ , and not another amazing specimen of a man, put those marks there.

After spending the night together in the clearing, making raw, untamed love under the stars and next to the corpse of a bear, Ron and I - flushed and with our clothes rumpled and in some cases ripped - crawl back under the fence back into District 12 as the sun begins to rise. I think about kissing my paramour goodbye at my house, so I can slip in before Primrose and her baby wake and she suspects why I have stayed out all night -  _again_  - but Ron can't seem to want to let me out his sight. Or keep his hands off me.

We head for the Peacekeeper Barracks inconspicuously, entering the compound without trouble. Most of the cadets are still asleep; it is not quite yet time for morning taps. Finding Ron's little shack and the bed he shares with his fiancé empty, we retrace steps back to Bakery, looking for Hermione. It's the next most logical place she would be.

The sign over the bakery is still CLOSED, so I lead Ron into the back alley, near-silently breaking in by gaining access from the rear loading dock. Entering the front of the shop, Ron and I stop dead at the sight, our faces burning, gawking in amazement.

Peeta and Hermione are fast asleep, disheveled and wrapped in each other's arms, and without a stitch of clothing on either of their naked bodies. Well, except for what I think is the remains of a simple Merchant's dress, barely hanging around Hermione's middle. And right now, it's not covering much of anything.

The pair of lovers awaken to find Ron and I still staring at them. Between the two of them, Hermione looks clearly the most scandalized, her entire face flushing a potent shade of pink. But she does not cry, or weep. Fall at Ron's feet and beg forgiveness for her infidelity and weakness. Peeta, meanwhile, chances a glance at me sadly. Resigned. He knows the die is cast. And from the way he seems to be peering between me and Ron curiously, I know he comes to quickly figure out that we are just as at fault as he and his new mistress are.

Ron and I eventually decide to leave the pair be, merely warning them to redress and get a hold of themselves before the first customers arrive. As soon as we exit the alleyway off the loading dock, Ron takes my hand in his and runs us both out of Town, all the way through the Seam and back to the Meadow. There, in the tall grasses tickled by sunshine, he drops to one knee and asks me to marry him. It turns out he and Hermione were never engaged to begin with, though at one time he had been planning on proposing to her. Ron had made it part of the ruse to better ensure that the District government might not keep them apart. Even then, he flouted some of the Peacekeepers' most strident rules in shacking up with her.

Even so, beaming down at this man who is so kind and sweet and loyal - especially loyal to me - I say Yes. I tackle him, pushing him down into the grass and slobbering his face with kisses. "But if you are going to marry me, you can't ever tell me what to do," I condition, whispering the words into his mouth. "And I won't have children."

Surprisingly, Ron takes my terms with little complaint. It only makes me love him all the more. Someone who will let me be who I am. And love me to boot. I can work with this.

* * *

When Mother abandoned her Merchant upbringing to marry my father, one of the few fancy items she took from her old life was the family's wedding dress. It is the fanciest wardrobe item she ever owned, and, even after all these years, is still in pristine condition. Though I am a plain woman in my tastes (I would be just as willing to Toast the bread in nothing but my blue Reaping dress), I decide that Mother's bridal gown will be what I wear to marry Ronald Weasley.

Primrose helps dress me in the garment, letting its silk fall gracefully over my shoulders, and taking up the hem herself. As a special token, my baby sister presents me with the black garter our mother wore on her wedding night. The one that I wore the night I was seduced by Peeta Mellark, the man whom I once thought I would marry, if given the right circumstances and incentives.

Ron is more than eager for us to get married how I want to, doing whatever I feel comfortable with. "Wizard weddings can be pretty unique, too," he explains. When I offer to inject some... magical traditions into our wedding ceremony, however, he balks. "Too risky, love. Besides, some of it is quite complicated." My husband-to-be is fascinated by the concept of a Toasting, which amuses me. It may not be much, but nobody in District 12 feels married without sharing a bit of slightly burnt bread.

The one thing I will not do, however, is present my marriage for review at the Justice Building so that it may become legal in the eyes of the law. I have always been a rebellious person, and Ron is still technically a Peacekeeper. Would the District 12 authorities even allow him to wed, even if his choice of bride has changed? If such a precedent did exist, I feel sure that any Peacekeeper marrying any citizen from Town or Seam would be frowned upon - an intermingling that just wouldn't do. Ron solves the problem by using his uniform and status - however contrived it may be - to simply waltz right into the Justice Building and steal blank copies of a marriage license. And not just for ourselves, either...

Standing over the simple hearth in Primrose's and my house, Ron stokes the bit of bread over the fire. Breaking it in half, we feed a piece to each other. And then Ron takes me in his arms. For the briefest instant, I feel a twinge of fear, hesitation over the unknown. But one look into Ron's eyes banishes any doubts.  _We're doing the right thing. We'll make this work. Somehow._  Titling my head, I allow my new husband to bend and kiss me full on my mouth. Closing my eyes in bliss, I lick the errant crumbs of his lips and slip it in between the split he opens to me.

Behind us, Primrose, Peeta and Hermione clap and cheer with approval. Ron and I tenderly break apart, my eyes heavy with love as I gaze at him. I'm a married woman. I am Mrs. Ronald Weasley.

With one hand, I pick up the suitcase that Ron told me to pack, with any clothes and items worth keeping. He wouldn't tell me why, but I trusted him enough to follow his advice. Perhaps after our wedding, we will make a clean break for the fence. Leave the district and Panem forever and live in the woods. The prospect thrills me with the sense of adventure. He and I, we could make it.

In my other hand, I finger a golden wedding ring that Ron presented to me. I don't know where he got it - perhaps it was all he could afford in the Hob on a Peacekeeper's wages. In his hand directly opposite mine, Ron toys with his own golden band.

Which he now slips on my finger. "Katniss Sierra Everdeen, with this ring, I thee wed."

I smile shyly and copy the motion, depositing the ring I hold onto his own finger. "Ronald Bilius Weasley, with this ring, I thee wed." Leaning in, we share a long kiss.

No sooner have the rings come to rest on our skin than a blistery gust of wind howls through the house. I throw my arms about Ron and hold him close. Ron pulls me to him just as tightly. As I try to deepen the kiss to relax myself, I can't help but wonder:  _Is this more magic?_

Ron's voice echoes through my brain:  _Yes. It is more magic!_

All at once, Primrose, Peeta Hermione, the house - they all disappear. Fade away. Squeezing my husband against me tighter, I focus on kissing him as we are sucked into oblivion, towards destinations and worlds and times unknown...

* * *

**Hermione's POV**

Peeta and I shield our eyes until the flash of light dissipates, showing an empty space where Katniss and Ron once stood just moments before.

Not long after I fell out of love with Ron and in love with Peeta, I finally discovered how to get the rings to send people back to the present in England. It was not any fancy spells or incantations - many of which I had tried on the trinkets without success. You just had to put the rings back  _on_. That's literally all.

It probably would have saved Ron and I a lot of time. But then again, we might never have fallen for, or even met, the partner we were always  _supposed_  to be with. Yes, I loved Ron. He was one of my first friends, my first crush, my first boyfriend. My first love. But I wasn't  _in love_  with him. Peeta was the one who taught me that there is a difference between the two.

Whatever Katniss might think, about her and Peeta's brief affair, the baker at one time really did love her. But I think he loved his own starry-eyed vision of her, the one who wore a red dress to the first day of school with one braid down her back and sang until the birds fell silent. Peeta told me the story the night we had our wild shag. It was sweet, but it was brought out of a child's innocence and naivete, before Peeta even knew what love truly was.

Now, in a wedding gown once owned by Peeta's own mother (he doesn't speak of her, but I imagine she was just lovely, to have raised a remarkable son), I suddenly pull out my wand and murmur an incantation - willing a golden tiara into being and onto my head. Peeta gapes in amazement. I smile in amusement at him. "Did you really not think that if Ron was a wizard, I might be a witch?"

Peeta splutters like a fish, somehow avoiding to spit out any bread crumbs as he manages to swallow his piece down. He finally smiles in acceptance. "No, darling, I guess I didn't."

I grin at him seductively. "Peeta Mellark, get over here and kiss your bride! Make me your wife!"

Peeta's arms encircle my waist. "As you wish."

Outside the window, the wilted winter flowers magically burst into full bloom, observing us fall in love anew. And as Peeta and I embrace and kiss, my wand tumbles from my hand - almost in slow motion - and clatters forgotten to the floor.

With this kiss, I am more than a witch. I am now also a Merchant. And a wife. I am Mrs. Hermione Mellark.


	8. Tinworth, England, 2018

**Chapter 8: Tinworth, England, 2018**

I frown in concentration as I hover the stick of chestnut over the pot of soup. Racking my brain, I manage to remember and sound out the spell that Ronald had taught to me. "Incendio!"

The stove does not light up underneath the pot the way I thought it would. I guess third time is  _not_  the charm... pun intended. Apparently, where Ron went to wizarding school, there was an entire subject entitled Charms. I throw down the wand in frustration upon the countertop and work to turn on the stove manually. Or as Ron sometimes says, the "Muggle" way.

Our magical wedding rings spirited my love and I out of 2102 Panem and into a country called England, in the year 2006. Landing in a dusty attic, Ron and I had changed out of our marriage clothes and into more suitable clothes one might wear on a honeymoon. Because whatever strange surprises we would find here, this would be our honeymoon, and a quite memorable one at that.

No time had seemed to pass at all in Ron's childhood house since he and Hermione mysteriously vanished. From the way his boisterous family - the family I had now married into - had greeted him, it was as if Ron had been gone for mere minutes instead of more than a year. Standing shyly behind him in my blue Reaping dress, Ron had introduced me to his five brothers and sisters and his parents as Katniss Everdeen Weasley, his new wife. When his astonished family asked where Hermione was, Ron lied and said that he had tragically lost her, in another world. It kind of is the truth, but Ron seemed to imply lost in a more morbid sense. And perhaps Hermione, her fate now sealed in a new life in Panem, would prefer it that way. She wouldn't want anyone to worry for her.

Since then, for the past twelve years, I have lived with my husband and a good portion of my in-laws in this ramshackle house the Weasley all call The Burrow. Ron was right in his description of it, the first day we met - the structure has seen worse than my childhood home in the Seam ever did. We are poor, but that has never been new for me. There are days when I miss my sister and niece, and yes, even Peeta now and again. But I would rather live free in a time that isn't mine, than trapped in my own time. I will never see the 22nd century again; I know I will die before that happens.

But, I am so happy with the love of my life, that it lessens the ache of these heavy thoughts, if only just a little.

As I fiddle with the stove, I feel a pair of warm, calloused hands encircle my waist from behind. Turning around in the embrace, I smile and let Ron entrap my lips with his in a fiery kiss. Even after a dozen years of marriage, and the way he kisses me can still make me swoon. Still, my now very kissed lips frown into an almost childish pout, making my husband laugh.

"What's wrong, love?"

"I can't get the stove to turn on with magic. Maybe I'm just not good at it! Or maybe I'm not meant to wield it."

Ron considers this for a moment. "Then perhaps in this world, you are what we would call a Muggle. But that's OK," and he pecks my lips again lightly. "I love you anyway."

"Hmm," I smile wanly at him. "So I've been told." Smiling into each other's eyes, we dive into a deep kiss that quickly gets out of hand. Spinning Ron around, I push him up against the counter, pinning him there, and quickly get to work suckling at the pulse point on his neck. He lets out an aroused hiss, his fingernails digging possessively into my hips.

"The... the baby..." he croaks.

"... is napping upstairs," I murmur almost drowsily, getting drunk worshipping him with my lips. Our son, Galvin, is only just 2. Carrying him was easier than I thought it would be, but not by much, considering how I was 35, almost 36 when I had him. Not exactly in my prime.

"W...Willow..."

"Out in the garden playing with your Mum," I supply an answer readily. If we still lived like slaves in Panem, our 11-year-old would be eligible for the Reaping next year. The fact that she will never know such cruelty makes me nearly cry with relief even now, miles and almost one hundred years away. "We're alone, Mr. Weasley. And I want to shag you. Right this minute."

So saying, I drop to my knees and throw down my husband's slacks, boxers and all. His member stands ready at attention for me, throbbing and already slick with pre-cum.

Ron is still reeling with astonished admiration as I lean forward and take him in my mouth. Having his foreskin trapped between my puckered lips gives me a great sense of smug pride. I am in charge. I am in control. And Ron knows it too. I always praise him for how easily he lets me take the lead when we make love.

Closing my eyes, I loll out my tongue to lick him up his length, from shaft to tip. My lips snap forward as I take him in deeper, until I have nearly swallowed him whole. I feel Ron's rough hands weave themselves into my brown curls, unbraided - my husband surprised me, not long into our marriage, when he said he preferred gawking at me with my hair down. I have taken to letting it hang as often as possible ever since then.

My husband now frantically humps his pelvis into my face, so that his manhood jiggles and thrashes around in my throat. "Katniss... Katniss... oh Merlin, please, Katniss..." Ron croons my name like a prayer.

My mouth curling into a satisfied smirk around his cock, I curl a fist around his base and begin to work him with my fingers as well as my mouth. When I was young, I would pick up enough tips from slutty women passing stolen liquor around in the Hob. Pump, squeeze, suck... pump, squeeze, suck...

With my remaining free hand, I cup my husband's balls in my palm and mold them to my liking, caress them as I work. All the while, I only pay a vague attention to the person at the other end of my actions. My jaw is already starting to feel sore, but I doggedly keep at it. I want to pleasure my husband, the father of our children...

Ron's legs suddenly go rigid, and I know he's close. I purr in aroused contentment and give his shaft one last lick.

"KATNISS!" Ron explodes in my mouth, and I greedily gulp down every last drop, like my babies once did with my, their mother's, milk. I release him slowly, tenderly, noting with approval the print of my lipstick ringing Ron's cock. I tuck him with care back into his pants, then rise to my feet and give him a parting kiss.

"I have to go wake the baby," I murmur. And I make sure my love gets a good view of my ass while I sashay away and up the stairs.


	9. District 12, Panem, 2114

**Chapter 9: District 12, Panem, 2114**

The DING of the fire ovens has barely faded before I am pulling the latest batch of bread from its depths. "The sourdough is ready!" I throw over my shoulder to no one in particular, hurrying with the bundle out the back of the shop and putting it in the display basket. Hopefully, one of my husband's employees heard me.

I am turning around when a body suddenly presses me up against the glass of the display windows, and I feel his strong, firm lips on mine. I close my eyes and moan happily. "Hmmmm... Peeta..."

I whine when we break apart far too quickly for my liking. "Nice hustle, dear. Keep up the great work."

I give him my best smile, but he and I both know it is strained, even as I say with crippling honesty, "I love you too." I have to keep up the great work, especially on today of all days. The day of the Reaping. The Reaping for the 98th Hunger Games.

After Peeta and I got married, I moved out of the little shack I had shared with Ron in the Peacekeeper Barracks, and went to live with my new husband in his Bakery. The Head Peacekeeper, Cray, was not at all pleased to learn about Katniss Everdeen and Captain Ronald Weasley's mysterious disappearances. But with the help of a Confundus Charm, I convinced the old bastard that Katniss and Ron made a break for the woods beyond the fence, and to not concern himself with the matter further. The case has never been solved since, giving the people of District 12 a small measure of hope that somebody escaped... and perhaps even lived to tell the epic tale. Of course, no one knows for sure... except for Peeta and I.

I cried all night in our bed when Peeta first explained to me what the Reaping was. How it fed into the Hunger Games - a barbaric contest in which two dozen teenaged children enter a wild arena for a fight to the death, until only one remains. Suddenly, the picture I saw of that kid bleeding to death, the one that Peeta painted and showed me when I was first beginning to discover my love for him, made sense. And it also explained the almost ghostly presence of that drunken tosser who lives alone high on the hill, in the place they call Victors Village: Haymitch Abernathy, my adopted homeland's only living Victor out of a pathetic two.

It has been agony these past twelve years to be forced to watch this sick contest. But the choice is either you watch or you die. And I have no intention of dying. My intention, as I watch my eleven-year-old daughter, Rose, take orders (Peeta and I got pregnant almost immediately after our wedding), is for there to not be a Hunger Games this time next year, when my baby first becomes eligible. My intention is to someday live in a land that is no longer Panem, one in which my daughter can grow up to be anyone she chooses. I fought and conquered tyranny once, in a world so far removed from this place it almost feels like a dream. I will do it again.

And I know there are plenty others here in Twelve who feel the same way I do. The legend of Ron Weasley and Katniss Everdeen even now gives people the one thing the Capitol and their maniacal President fear the most: hope. As the years have passed, Cray has gotten more inept in keeping his district under control. Some vendors in the Hob are taking bets to see how long he will last until he is finally removed from power or drops dead - whichever comes first. He  _is_  getting rather old. More fresh Peacekeepers have been inculcated off the train, and these cadets are harsher, more ruthless. Some of the rules that Cray once flagrantly ran afoul of have come back with a vengeance, many for the first time in years and years, or so Peeta says.

But with every crackdown, more and more I see ordinary Merchants and Seam folk actually  _fighting back_. It won't be long before the President and his administration have to get involved. In sacrificing my old life for this one, all for the sake of true love, I willingly entered under a cloud.

And yet the sight I now hold in my eyes - Peeta's smile - reminds me that he alone has made it all worth it.

"Thanks, Hermione!" The shoemaker's wife calls as she walks out the door with the order I presented her. Last customer of the morning. I flip the front sign to say CLOSED. We have to be shut down for the rest of the day - Reaping Day is considered to be pretty much a holiday, if not exactly a full one when all businesses are closed around the clock. Taking Peeta by the hand, I drag him upstairs to our bedroom and we dress in our fancier clothes for the Reaping. We must look presentable for the Capitol. I would really like to throw Peeta on the bed and give him a really hot shag right now, but I'm afraid we haven't the time. Finished donning my dress, I go see to our daughter and make sure she is presentable. Thank Merlin she is still only eleven. Please, please, let me her never turn twelve...

Sensing my distress, Peeta takes my hand and gently kisses my lips once. We'll be OK, he tells me. We have each other. He has been my greatest comfort, at nights, desperate to sleep, pushing me up against the headboard, filling my mouth with his tongue and my cunt with his cum. All while I loudly moan and thrash beneath him.

The whole of the district gathers in the square in front of the Justice Building. The proceedings afterwards are pretty rote. The Mayor says a few words. Haymitch Abernathy, our folk hero is introduced as a guest of honor, after which he promptly tumbles headfirst off the stage. Effie Trinket, our district escort from the Capitol, prepares to pick the names of one doomed boy and one doomed girl.

But before she can, the proceedings take a decidedly unexpected turn.

At the edge of the square, there have been individuals growing increasingly fidgety, even more fidgety than children and adults alike get on Reaping Day. Suddenly -

A great shout goes up. "FOR PANEM!" And a crowd of Seamers, Merchants and even some rogue Peacekeepers still in their uniforms rise up and fall upon our oppressors. Bedlam ensues in the square. At first frightened and then excited - it's finally happening! - I grab Rose and Peeta and we hustle to a safe row of buildings to watch.

Peacekeepers still loyal to the President, Capitol officials fall to mining picks and knives and even improvised weaponry, like barrels full of wine. Blood runs thick and fast along the cobblestones, giving a disturbing visual to match the cries of the dead and dying. Before long, the brave people of Twelve have taken over the District, sparking a rebellion and revolution at long last.

Even with the horrid sights all around us, Peeta and I fall into each other's arms. There, relieved, and with as much passion as we did the first time all those years ago, my husband and I share a long, slow kiss.

A kiss to end all kisses, as District 12 crumbles around us, starting a fire that eventually burns Panem to the ground, throw off the yoke of authoritarian rule and gifts us with a democracy once again, for the first time in nearly a century.

 _That_  is the kind of time and land I want to live in, with the love of my life and our child.


End file.
